


First Noel

by KrisserCI5



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-15
Updated: 2008-12-15
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:05:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisserCI5/pseuds/KrisserCI5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie never really thought Christmas time was all that joyful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Noel

The First Noel  
By krisser

 

Bodie stood alone at the window looking out at the frost. The carollers couldn’t help but catch his attention. Bundled up against the cold, their singing remained lively throughout. Too lively for him. With Doyle away this year he didn’t have to pretend. He never really thought this time of year all that joyful.

This year, only the newest of the last batch of operatives were on standby; the rest actually had the time off. It seemed that even the criminals couldn’t handle the unusually low temperatures.

Customarily, he volunteered for the standby rotation, letting operatives with family have a chance to be with them. He’d spend the shift at HQ, could forget for a while that it was the “joyous time of year.” But this year Cowley had been adamant that all senior operatives would be off for holiday. 

Years that he and Doyle spent the standby shift together were probably the best holidays he’d had. Doyle would prepare a turkey and he would buy the rest. Doyle had fairy lights and a little tree – they’d trade a gift or two. Nice.

Alone?

Not so nice.

This year, Doyle was off to some bird’s for Christmas dinner and Boxing Day at his mum’s.

If he’d offered to trade time with a rookie, there would be questions. He didn’t want to answer questions so that idea was out.

Bloody crime-makers were making merry instead of crime.

Well, he had a full bottle of pure malt scotch. A pressie for himself. As he sipped his drink he remembered words his mother would utter - be careful what you wish for. Bodie shrugged away the memory.

Several hours later, three-quarters of the Glenlivet still remained when the R/T went off.

Bodie grabbed it before it could sound again and annoy him further.

“3.7.”

“Call Alpha One at home, 3.7, pronto.”

“Understood. 3.7 out.”

Bodie picked up the phone and dialled Cowley’s home number.

“Cowley.”

“3.7, sir. You called.”

“Yes, Bodie, thank you. I have a situation that I would like you to handle.”

“Yes, sir,” Bodie agreed readily, pleased to have a reprieve from his morose memories.

“A useful informant has a domestic problem that could escalate into violence and you are closer than Doyle. I want this handled as quietly as possible without involving the local constabulary.”

Bodie understood that this was off the record but not a “susie”. “Yes, sir. Name? Address?”

“The problem is Steven Blane, 27 Dunsten, Soho. Call me as soon as you have contained it.” Cowley rang off abruptly.

Bodie grabbed his gun, jacket and keys before he raced into the bitter cold to do Cowley’s bidding.

 

His destination was a rundown flat in a block of rundown flats where just the number separated it from the others. The street was nearly empty and Bodie parked with ease. He moved with a naturalness that could have placed him at any of the flats before him.

Bodie entered the building and heard a commotion upstairs. The loud voices led him where he needed to go. Outside the door he waited, listening to the dilemma he was expected to solve.

 

“Ah, Steve, what the hell you doin’?”

“I’m going out and doing my part - bringing in the money. Make a nice Christmas . . . it’s what you wanted.” His slurred words were yelled loud enough for Bodie to hear in the stairwell.

The voices lowered and Bodie hurried up. Outside the door he heard the woman speak again. 

“But not with a gun. That’s not the way.”

“It is tonight! Git out of my way!” the male voice hollered in time with the furniture crash.

Bodie could wait no longer for back-up. Gun drawn, he kicked the door in with a surge of adrenaline. Surprised occupants froze in placed as they stared at the crazed intruder.

Even in his inebriated state, Cowley’s grass recovered quicker than his wife and pointed his gun at Bodie.

Bodie checked out the front room quickly with a glance and knew there were no others with them. The bedroom was a different story, the woman’s eyes kept darting to the closed door. Bodie figured there were probably kids within. 

Bodie kept his voice even, “Listen to your wife, this isn’t the way.” He appeared far more calm than he felt. He made eye contact with the woman.

“He just wanted to make a nice Christmas for the little ones. He just lost his job at the docks and. . . “

“Shut up, you stupid cow.”

Bodie still tried for calm. “She’s right – that’s not the way to do it.” He nodded to the gun as he stayed unmoving.

“Wot the ‘ell you know about it? Jus git out of my way before I shoot you.” He looked his intruder in the eye. “And I will, you know.”

 

Outside, Doyle parked behind his partner’s motor. Cowley’s call could have been construed as just being informed of Bodie going in without back-up, but Doyle knew it for what it was. He had left immediately for Soho. Now he could hear the yelling even before he turned off his motor. When he heard the threat to his partner he raced inside. He could hear Bodie’s calm voice answer. It never failed to amaze him how much control his partner could exert in times of intense stress. He expected Bodie to spout the usual patter of solicitudes, but froze against the hallway wall when Bodie’s words registered.

“I know a hell of a lot – knew a family once – fell on hard times. The father thought like you, a gun and something illegal should make for a nice Christmas. He was wrong, you’re wrong.”

“Oh my ‘eart’s bleedin’.”

“A lot more of you will be if you don’t put the gun down.” Bodie’s eyes conveyed the full message.

Wanting to defuse the current stand-off, the wife interjected in a small voice toward Bodie, “What happened to that family?”

Bodie took a deep breath before he answered. “The wife tried to stop her husband, just like you, but he had important plans – wanted to buy grand things for his son. So he just pushed her out of the way and down the stairs. He stepped over her dead body on his way out into the night. The son ran away to sea – far away from that nice Christmas.” 

Back in the hallway, still pressed against the wall, Doyle knew that family had been Bodie’s. Bloody hell, that whole story had been Bodie’s life. 

He filed it away before he stepped around the corner to back up his partner. He didn’t expect to see a shot-gun pressed against Bodie’s chest. Doyle’s blood ran cold. He’d been standing back there listening to a story instead of doing his job.

Inside the room, Bodie didn’t react to the gun nor to his partner’s arrival. He looked Cowley’s grass in the eye. “Is this how you want them to remember you, Blane? Remember Christmas? You pull that trigger and my partner will shoot and you will be dead as me. Is that what you want? What they want?” Bodie looked to the wife and the two kids that had crept in behind their mother.

The man wasn’t ready to give up, the alcohol in his system making him bolder than he might have been. “Wot do you know about it?” Dejection was paramount, but it continued to war with his frustration.

Quietly, without heat but plenty of menace, Bodie answered the question. “I know a lot.” He looked the man directly in the eye.

Blane stared back, then silently lowered his gun.

Doyle zipped in, took the gun away and handcuffed the man. He handed him off to Bodie before he turned to the woman. He moved in close and spoke gently to her. “Cowley wants to talk with you.”

She nodded as her shoulders sagged in relief.

Doyle added, “He’ll send someone round to fix the door before long.”

She nodded again, then turned her children back toward the bedroom. 

***********

Bodie waited for another CI5 man to pick up Blane. Doyle waited for Bodie.

“Oi! Thought you had a bird waiting?” Bodie inquired. He knew that Doyle had his own motor, he wasn’t waiting around for a ride.

“Plans changed.”

Bodie shrugged, not knowing what was up. Doyle was pacing about, saying nothing. Just lots of surplus energy getting on his nerves. 

Doyle was remembering all he heard. He knew he never had to ask for confirmation, he knew without a doubt that the story he heard Bodie tell was his own. Bodie’s childhood mirrored the events of the evening, only with a disastrous ending. Bodie’s attitude at Christmas all made sense now. He’d hug him if he could, but he knew that wouldn’t go over well.

But he really wanted to - hug him that is. And that set Doyle to more thinking and more pacing about. He replayed the rest of the evening’s events and was peeved by Bodie’s cavalier behaviour when facing down the gun, like he didn’t care. And he damn well better care.

All ruminations were suspended as handpicked B Squad operatives arrived on scene. That left the two of them free to go. Doyle followed Bodie home.

Bodie wasn’t surprised by Doyle’s appearance, just puzzled by the continued high energy level. It was time to wind down.

“Heat turned off at your place already?”

“Plenty of heat right here. Don’t know whether to hug you or hit you. Stupid fool stunt you pulled back there, mate.” Doyle had no intention of letting it go.

“What stunt? Just talked a man out of getting killed as Cowley wanted.” Bodie unlocked the door to his flat.

“Blane had his finger on the trigger of the gun pressed against your chest.” Doyle pushed in behind his partner, anger escalating.

“Mine was as well, Doyle.”

“God-damnit Bodie,” Doyle punctuated his anger with a hit to Bodie’s chest with each word. “You aren’t the only person out there. That gambit back there could have easily got you killed.”

“But it didn’t.”

The answer was too pat, too calm for Doyle’s liking. “It could have, you bastard.”

Bodie pushed at Doyle ineffectually. The angry man didn’t move an inch. Bodie tried again. “I’m all in one piece.”

“Bloody hell, Bodie, don’t you get it? Heart in my throat – I was fuckin’ scared. That’s all I could see – you there – dead!” In that moment, Doyle understood. Understood why it had bothered him so much to see that gun at Bodie’s chest, understood why Bodie’s nonchalant answers left him raw.

And Bodie wasn’t getting it.

He pushed him against the wall - willing Bodie to understand.

Bodie still wasn’t getting it, and Doyle was past caring how his partner would interpret it. He pushed him up harder against the wall and saw a spark of understanding before he claimed his lips in need. His need to assure himself of Bodie’s continued life. His need to act on his discovery of deep feelings. His need to find an answering need in Bodie.

It didn’t take long. 

That glimmer of understanding in Bodie’s eye was a full-fledged acknowledgement that the deep feelings went both ways. Each dipped a hand inside the snug trousers of the other and grasped the full hardness within. Tentative yet commanding, the warm hands held what was dear. Doyle didn’t know who was first, but both spilled seed into a welcoming enclave. 

Bodie chuckled. Doyle recognised the relief in it and pulled him close. A warm look shared between them set their tilted world back on its axis before they sought the kitchen sink to clean off their hands.

Bodie grabbed them each a beer from the fridge as the sound of carollers drew Doyle to the window. Bodie moved in behind him and felt a joy to hear the singing. The verses of The First Noel floated up to them both. Putting his arm over Doyle’s shoulder, Bodie found that he agreed, this was his first joyful noel.

 

fini

[ ](http://s267.photobucket.com/user/KrisserCI5/media/xmas2bandd.jpg.html)

**Author's Note:**

> DILJ xmas advent calendar story. Prompt was the song, First Noel.
> 
> Pic was created for story by my friend Metabolick.


End file.
